Ryla read the words on the wall aloud.
"God is dead? Since when did writing messages in your victim’s blood become a goth poetry contest?"
"I’m not talking to you." Ari said. "Not after you killed my hamster."
"Look, I had to after it bit me." Ryla said. "You know how they turn into evil carnivorous monsters once they’ve had a taste of human flesh."
Welcome to Mcdonalds. Are you ready to launch your taste buds into the fourth dimension of flavor with one of our signature sandwiches? Or maybe you’re here for our world famous chicken nuggets, made with all white breast meat, deep fried to perfection, and served with one of our five zesty dipping sauces. With so many great menu choices it’s easy to see why Mcdonalds is the world’s premier fast food enterprise.
I was with C when she got her faerie tattoo. They didn’t have time to give me the tattoo I wanted: a rendition of the Quake 2 logo. Where am I going with this? Well you see, despite the fact that I almost got a video game logo tattooed on my arm I am still the sanest person at my Mcdonalds. That alone should speak volumes about the Mcdonalds corporation’s hiring policies.
I wish we had more deaf mutes like Hiram. At least he doesn’t try to start conversations with me. My coworkers fill me with goth rage. After work I’m going to kill a kitten, nail it to an upside down crucifix, and use it as a hood ornament for my armored deathmobile.
"I know your job is hellish," Tekwar’s virtual William Shatner simulation said. "But remember, hell is simply one’s refusal to accept that they’re in heaven."
"That doesn’t make any sense." I said.
"Look kid, don’t question my advice. I was saving the world when you were in diapers."
"Hey, my adult baby lifestyle has nothing to do with this."
No one is as lazy as my coworker Carl. After they made him they broke the mold, and rightfully so. The worst part is I can’t even report his slacking to my manager. I have the authority to write him up but then he has the authority to write me up. Mutually assured destruction is a harsh mistress.
"You have no right to make fun of my job." I said to Josh. "Your warehouse job is even worse."
"It won’t be once I get MTV to pimp my forklift." Josh said.
I’ve never seen anyone get so upset over a fly on their sandwich. The way this woman reacted you’d think it was the maggots of hell or something. All day long I have to deal with idiot customers. The only reason I don’t flip out at them is because it wouldn’t be very ladylike.
I’ve found I relate to people better as a female. I greet the drive thru customers in a wraithlike feminine voice. I’m always flattered when they mistakenly call me ma’am. I still haven’t come up with a good female name for myself. Jen is too obvious. J-Money is too bling bling. I’m open to suggestions.
I’ve done pot for food transactions in drive thru before. I’m sure those are commonplace in the big city but for New Hampshire that’s pretty getto. For all of marijuana’s supposed ability to "enhance" music I’ve still found I get better results with stimulants. I’m drinking coffee and listening to halo fourteen. Most hardcore NIN fans hate Starfuckers, Inc. but I personally find the little lovers’ spat between Reznor and Manson hilarious.
I remember my first conversation with Brannen.
"Wow, you like German pirate metal too?" I said. "I thought I was the only one who was awestruck by the guitar pyrotechnics of Running Wild."
"And I bet you hate Nelly videos because-"
"They force you to associate images with music that’s best experienced with a blank mental slate."
"My name is Brannen."
I said my name.
Brannen and I watched Dead Meat. Killing zombies is every man’s fantasy. Ask any man what they’d do in the event of a zombie plague and their face will light up. They’ll go on and on about how they’d drive around in their pickup truck lopping off zombies’ heads with a samurai sword. You can tell that’s all men fantasize about: violence and wholesale slaughter. Men are such scum.
"I’m not sure what we should do for our next meeting." I said to the rest of the manga book club. "Does anyone have any suggestions?"
Brannen raised his hand.
"-That don’t involve bringing the corpse of Hitler back to grotesque and horrible life as an unholy cyborg creature?"
Brannen put his hand down.
I no longer had any use for the porn on my computer. The antidepressants I was on had all but killed my sexual urges. Some might’ve considered this a negative side effect but I was glad to be free of carnal lust. It was difficult to talk to a woman when all you could think about was her delicate proboscis, slender thorax, and perfectly formed egg sac.
"Have you had any thoughts of harming yourself?" my psychiatrist said.
"Well, yesterday at work I thought about sticking the nozzle of the grease suction hose up my nose and sucking out my brains." I said. "Does that count?"
I had attention deficit disorder. My psychiatrist had prescribed me Xeno-Zip, a stimulant synthesized from the royal jelly of the alien queen. The sheer potency of the drug made it a sought after substance on the black market. No sooner would I leave the pharmacy than random strangers would approach me and offer me $20 a pill.
"Wait a minute." I said. "These are acid spitting xenomorphs and we’re fighting them with paintball guns?"
"They’ll probably cocoon us if they take us alive." Justin said. "Save the last paintball for yourself."
My friends had somehow talked me into another doomed social outing. I was at a taco bell in Lebanon dressed like the unholy bride of Satan. It felt unusual to be on the other side of the drive thru window. A strange feeling filled my plasm like a current mood that knew no emoticons. It had been forever since I’d done tek. Well, relatively speaking. I sat motionless, transfixed by the ethereal dreamscape of the Lebanon strip. I never wanted to leave this blissful fugue state.
"Are you really firing me as manager?" Justin said. "Even after I got your band all those great gigs?"
"Great gigs?" I said. "Last week we played Zombie Town, Nightmare City, and The Village of the Damned. And could you possibly have gotten us worse hotel rooms?"
I didn’t mind wearing my dress in public places. There was no shame in my game. I was at a gas station standing next to a rack of Swisher Sweets cigars. The fact that swisher sounded like another word for a swirly amused me probably a lot more than it should have.
"Wow, I can’t believe the Rylan senator’s motion to strip mine the earth and enslave humanity passed unanimously." I said.
"You’re earth’s senator." Brannen said. "Why didn’t you vote against it?"
"Hey, I didn’t join the intergalactic senate to make waves."
There’s a girl I like. In her eyes I find a graceful serenity that lingers in the night air like a muted sigh. I’m going to see her tomorrow. She gives me hope, and that’s a hundred times more powerful than Skeletor and the combined forces of the underworld.
it's hard to shake the feeling that I've always got five stars in this Grand Theft Auto known as life.
Now, inexplicably, season three is looming over us like some sort of dome. Season one's plot asked whether or not the town could get out from under the dome. Apparently the answer was "no". Season two asked "I guess we're really stuck, huh?" and the answer was "yup".
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